


Cracked Glass

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before leaving Beacon Hills for college, Danny is still packing, when he finds an old photo that brings back older memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked Glass

The box slammed shut with an air of finality and Danny surveyed it triumphantly. He was finally done packing his clothes for college. 

_College_. 

He was still a little amazed that he’d gotten into NYU, which was in the top 50 in the world for Computer Science. At first, he’d thought it was some kind of prank, because no way was _he_ good enough for _NYU_. In fact, he was still kind of convinced that it was all just a crazy dream and he was going to wake up the next morning next to Ethan to tell him all about his little fantasy. 

Pictures, Danny decided. He couldn’t go to college without a few pictures to remember Beacon Hills by. He knew he had a couple of photo albums and photo frames on the bottom shelf. 

The first one he packed was the most recent (and coincidentally, his favourite) one of him and Ethan grinning like dorks at Denny’s Diner. You couldn’t really see Ethan’s eyes because he had sunglasses on, but he looked adorable nonetheless. His blond hairs stood at angles, since Danny had been raking his fingers through them all day. 

After packing a select few photos of the two of them (the rest would be handed to Ethan for safekeeping), he turned to the other pictures. He decided against taking one of Jackson, since they hadn’t spoken since Jackson left Beacon Hills. He wondered if Jackson had kept in touch with anyone. From what he knew, even Lydia hadn’t heard from him. 

But then, Lydia might not have wanted to hear from him. They’d broken up way before he left. 

He tossed the last picture into the box a little unceremoniously – it was one of him and Stiles, he wasn’t even sure why he was taking it – and straightened up. Time to move on to books. 

He got up a little clumsily, since there was almost no place to move. The floor was littered with boxes of various shapes and sizes, and all the things he hadn’t packed yet were scattered about between the boxes. An enormous pile of books teetered precariously at the other end of the room, and Danny didn’t know how he was going to get all the way there without injuring himself. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, wishing the day weren’t so hot, making his task even more tiring. 

As he tread in between the boxes he heard a little crunch beneath his right foot and felt something sharp sting his heel. 

“Ouch!” He jumped, holding his foot with one hand, trying to see what he’d stepped on, and hoping it wasn’t anything important. 

It was another photo, one he’d missed out because it had fallen behind one of the boxes. The frame had cracked a little. A glass shard lay next to it, and he noticed a tiny pinprick of blood on it. He pulled out a tissue to wipe his bleeding heel, moving the shard out of the way so that he wouldn’t step on it again. 

He bent over to check that the photo inside the frame was still safe – it was one of him and Lydia, from when they were freshmen. They weren’t looking at the camera; Lydia was telling Danny something and he was laughing. 

He picked it up, handling it a little more gingerly than he had the rest. The memories were fuzzy and he couldn’t remember who’d taken the photo, but he did remember going bowling with Lydia back in freshman year. That was the last time he’d ever gone out with Lydia; at least, as friends, and not as the friend of her boyfriend.   


* * *

  


_Beacon Hills Middle School_. 

Lydia stared at the four words, as though the longer she stared at them, the less uncomfortable she'd feel. She had walked past these four words every day for a week now – _a whole week_ – and she hated them more every day. 

She hated this school, this town, and its entire population, a population full of people who were wasting their pathetic lives. 

“Hate is a strong word,” her mother liked to say. Well of course it was a strong word; Lydia would use even stronger words to describe how she felt about Beacon Hills. 

She glared at the school, and the school glared back. It was an ugly building, she thought. Grey was an unattractive colour and it made the school look just as horrible as it was on the inside. Other than a few random trees and patches of dried grass, the walls and pathways were drab and lifeless, and it was more of a prison than a school. 

The hotter months were especially bad, since the sun beat down mercilessly on the pavement, and Lydia felt like the heat was burning through her shoes and through her feet. She imagined her whole body burning as red as her hair under the relentless rays of the sun. 

“Abhor,” she murmured under her breath as she took a step towards the school, setting an unwilling foot on the scorching pavement. “Detest. Loathe. Despise.” 

The cafeteria was the only place in the school that had some kind of life about it, probably since everyone got so excited about food. It was the only place in the school that deviated from the standard colour scheme of grey, a bit of white, and some more grey. The floor was covered with white tiles and the chairs were a bright blue that hurt her eyes. Apparently the school colours were white and blue. She’d assumed they’d be grey. Maybe Beacon Hills Middle School really loved their food, which was why the cafeteria was the only place that proudly sported the school colours. 

She ate lunch alone, as usual. She’d stopped caring after the first few days. Who wanted to eat with the school slut anyway? 

There had been this one girl – Lydia couldn’t remember her name – on the first day. She’d shown her around the school and she’d been pretty nice at first. But it didn’t take long for her to join the rest of the school in shaming Lydia for being “slutty”. 

Lydia still didn’t understand why the students had to be so unfriendly and judgemental – and what was so wrong with the way she dressed? As long as she didn’t show up to school naked, she didn’t see why her clothes were so “scandalous”. 

“It’s the way she talks to boys.” She’d overheard one of the girls by the lockers the previous day. “It’s so inappropriate.” 

She jabbed her bread with her fork. What had she done that was _inappropriate_? Was it _inappropriate_ to respond favourably if an attractive boy flirted with her? She was pretty sure that winking at a boy was no criminal offense. 

“Revolted.” Lydia stirred her soup with a spoon. “Distaste. Aversion. Disgust.” 

“Why don’t we sit over there?” Someone asked from a few tables away, and Lydia caught them pointing at her out of the corner of her eye. She focused her gaze on her soup, determined not to give away that she’d heard them. She thought she recognised the voice. It was some kid from her math class – Something Lahey. 

The boy next to him snickered. “Trust me, Isaac, you don’t want to sit with her.” 

They moved away, still talking, but Lydia had stopped listening. 

“Repugnance,” she muttered, fighting back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “Anti-“ 

She didn’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden she was out of the stuffy, smelly cafeteria and on a bench behind the school, crying her eyes out. She cried until her eyes were red and puffy, and then she cried some more. 

“Hey.” Someone said behind her, and she froze. 

She recovered almost immediately, and turned so that whoever it was wouldn’t be able to see her face. She heard him slide next to her on the bench and she could smell his perfume. Armani, she guessed. 

“Tissue?” He offered, holding one out. She didn’t react; she didn’t know _how_ to react. She sat still for a whole minute, hoping he would walk away and spare her the awkwardness. But he didn’t. 

Sighing inwardly, she turned a little to take the tissue from him. She caught a glimpse of dark hair and dark eyes, but she refused to look at him. She plucked the tissue from his hand and dabbed under her eyes. She knew her eyeliner had smeared all over her face, and it stained the tissue black. 

“Lydia, right?” 

She crumpled the tissue with one hand, and the eyeliner traces smudged onto her skin. 

“I’m Danny.” 

She rubbed the black marks off of her hand with the tissue. 

He took a breath. “You know, people here aren’t as bad as they seem. I mean, give them a while and they’ll get used to you. They’re actually pretty nice.” 

Lydia half-snorted. That had to be the best joke she’d heard so far. 

“No, really,” he said earnestly. “If they are as bad as they seem, then they’re not the right people.” 

“I guess this town is full of “not the right people” then.” She spoke finally, a little annoyed by his persistence. 

“Or maybe you haven’t met the right people yet. The ones who don’t judge you for… dumb stuff.” 

“Like you?” Lydia challenged. 

He shrugged. “I guess.” 

By now, she was half-amused at how self-assured he was, and at the same time, a little angry. He was some smart, _cool_ kid. He knew _nothing_ about what she was going through. 

“What would you know?” She demanded, her temper rising. “You’ve been here a while. You’re smart - I’ve seen you in the computer lab - and handsome, and you’ve got friends. How would you know about “the right people”?” 

He smiled a little wryly. “You’d be surprised.” 

“By what?” 

He shrugged again. “I used to have a hard time too. We all have hard times, but that doesn’t mean we’re always going to have hard times.” 

“I bet you haven’t been called a slut.” She spat that last, hateful word out. 

“No, but I’ve been called other names.” He replied coolly, and Lydia subconsciously marvelled at how composed he was. 

A cool breeze ruffled through her hair, and she tucked a strand behind her ear. The soothing effect of the breeze and Danny’s calm tone relieved some of the heat and her temper as well. She began to feel a little embarrassed by her outburst, and wished she hadn’t been so rude to the first person who had shown any kind of interest in her. 

“Thanks for the tissue,” she muttered, getting up, regretting having ever spoken to him and embarrassed herself. 

Danny got up as well. “Don’t mention it. We have English now, by the way.” 

“I know,” she said, turning away to walk back inside. She was too embarrassed to look back at him, and every step fell heavily on the pavement as she felt him stand there and watch her leave 

All of a sudden she stopped, still not looking at him. 

“Do… do you want to walk with me to class?” she asked.   


* * *

  


Danny missed Lydia. He didn’t know how, or when, they’d grown apart, but they had. He hadn’t really thought about it until he picked up that picture. 

On an impulse, he pulled his phone out and dialled Lydia’s number, hoping that she hadn’t left for college already. He waited two rings, and then hung up, impatient. He was leaving the next day (and he knew he shouldn’t have delayed packing for so long), and he doubted he’d ever talk to Lydia again, let alone get to see her. 

The doorbell rang. 

He knew it was too much of a coincidence, but he couldn’t help but hope it was Lydia who’d come to see him off on some kind of similar impulse. 

And – much to Danny’s surprise (and pleasure) – it was. He stared at her in disbelief, wondering if this could be yet another hallucination of his. In all his years at Beacon Hills, Lydia had never once come to see him unannounced. 

“Hi,” she said a little awkwardly. “Can I come in? 

Danny was still staring at her in shock with his mouth gaping before he could recollect himself. “Uh, sure.” 

She stepped in, looking around at the mess on the floor, and her eyebrows rose a little. 

“I was in the middle of packing,” he said hastily, trying to fit the picture he'd been looking at into an already overflowing box without breaking the rest of the glass. He didn't know why, but for some reason he didn't want her to know he'd been looking at it. 

“Still?” She was surprised. “Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?” 

Her tone was a little mocking and her brown eyes had a teasing glint that reminded Danny of middle school. He looked away. 

“Yeah, I just-” The picture bounced out of the box and he crammed it back in, cursing. “I’m almost done packing.” 

“Oh,” Lydia said, and Danny looked up to notice that the glint had gone out of her eyes and she looked uncomfortable again. He hadn't realised how awkward things were between them. 

“I, um, I got you something.” Lydia rummaged in her bag to pull out a relatively small gift-wrapped package. 

Danny took it from her and examined it, but he couldn’t guess what it was. Well, it was obviously a box, but he had no idea what was inside. 

“Another box.” He teased. “How thoughtful.” 

“Shut up.” Lydia said, but she was smiling. “It’s perfume.” 

“I hope you got me makeup as well, so that I can finally become the stereotypical gay man I've always dreamed of.” 

“I didn’t…” Lydia flushed, embarrassed. “That’s... sorry - that's not what I meant.” 

“I’m kidding.” He assured her, secretly wishing he’d thought to get her something. He would have, if he’d known she wanted to see him off. 

“Scott told me you liked Armani,” She explained. “So I thought… you might…” 

“Thanks.” He smiled, genuinely touched by the gesture, when a thought struck him. “Hold on, I have something I think you’d like.” 

He carefully placed the gift on a shelf, making a mental note to save it for special occasions only, and pulled the picture out of the box he’d stuffed it in. Only after he held it out for her to see did he realise that she might not want an old photo in a broken frame. 

“The glass is cracked,” He said apologetically as she took it from him. “And it’s a bit old and – ” 

He was cut short as Lydia enveloped him in a hug, and he swore for a split second that he’d seen tears in her eyes.


End file.
